When The Curtains Close
by Classic Rock Junkie
Summary: The Genetic Opera has passed, as has a year. Things are still the same on the streets, as many struggle to get by. But with a fallen company trying to rebuild itself from the dust, one can only wonder what troubles await.
1. But Somebody's Got To Do It

Alright, well, I've decided to do a _Repo! The Genetic Opera_ fan fiction. I have a craving for one of this pairing, but I'm not going to say the pairing. That will just happen.

I've been obsessing over _Repo!_ a lot recently, so I figured it would be spiffy to write for my fandom.

As a side note, I have not given up on "Just a Little Freddy" I just need a new Beta-reader. I have been unable to find one on the Beta-Finder who can Beta both Nightmare on Elm Street and Law & Order: Special Victims Unit. If you think you're up to the task, let me know via PM, alright? Thanks. As soon as I find a new one I can continue.

x

"The scientists in the Project are working extremely hard to produce results which will prove..."

Blah. Blah. Blah. More science talk. There was a reason Pavi didn't do that well in the subject. He couldn't pay attention for too long on anything that was not of interest to him. And THIS was not of interest to him. Quite frankly, nothing that did not involve him and a couple of Genterns or a mirror- both if he was lucky, was that interesting. But as the new head of GeneCo, he was required to attend these monotonous meetings that made him want to cut off his own ears, True, Miss Amber Sweet was the actual CEO of the illustrious company, but she was so busy getting high on Zydrate and who knows what else, Pavi and Luigi were left to cover for her. Luigi wasn't much help, he spent so much time screaming and ranting about getting the best coffee it was amazing if he was able to sit five minutes quietly in his plush comfortable chair.

Pavi ran a single hand through his hair, wincing as a finger caught the edge of his current "mask", irritating the raw skin underneath as a result. Sometimes, he wondered if the masks were worth it. Beauty was only skin deep after all. But these thoughts went away quick enough as he stared in the mirror at the gorgeousness that was his face. Who cared what was on the inside when all that can be seen is the outside?

If it was up to Pavi, there wouldn't _be_ any of these meetings, but the rest of the Board members had insisted that he should see where the money of the company was being placed. That was another thing the womanizer would love to get rid of- this ridiculous Board. All they did was whine and complain about everything, and not to mention that he knew what they said behind his back- the Board had done the exact same thing when his father, may his soul rest in peace, was in charge. But he digressed, what were these scientists, if they could even be called that, saying now?

"And in conclusion profits as a result of continued biogenetic research will increase substantially. As you can see, allowing us to continue the project doesn't only benefit the community," here Pavi snorted. What did a man of power like him care about the well-being of people he's never met before? "But greatly improve profits not just of the company, but you and your siblings' personal incomes as well Mr. Largo." Ah. Now his OWN income, that was more like it! Pavi smiled slightly, money was always good. Rotti Largo had taught him that much.

He surveyed the group of people in front of him, the executives sitting along the narrow rectangular business table, eagerly awaiting his decision. He noticed the slight desire-filled gazes of some of the females in the bunch- filing away faces for later. "I approve." That was probably the right thing to say. Maybe if he had been paying some form of attention he would have some idea of what they were proposing. The Largos didn't have a semblance of understanding for anything remotely medical; their father had failed to capture any of their attentions for very long unless the subject involved rewards. He was always good at that- seeing as he founded GeneCo as a young doctor trying to branch away from his hospital. The recent organ failure epidemic had given him a window of opportunity that Rotti seemed to have never regretted. Pavi would have to look into finding someone trustworthy to help with the medical terminology, someone he was sure would care for the company's well being (someone personally invested perhaps). Thinking about it, there wasn't anyone he knew of who could possibly help with that.

Sighs of relief filled the room as he spoke those consenting words, and not all of them came from the other occupants of the meeting; Pavi was just thrilled to see this business draw to a close. GeneCo had had a little trouble after The Opera Affair, and many were wary about the massive company. Nothing a few press interviews and good bribes couldn't take care of, they always were enough. Pavi winced slightly at the blandness of the meeting as he got up. Maybe now he'd be able to get some peace and quiet.

"Mr, Largo! A minute please!" A blond secretary called from the front desk of the floor, and Pavi sighed once more. Guess that peace and quiet would have to wait.


	2. Graverobber, Graverobber

Well, here's the second installment. The story shouldn't actually start till the third or fourth "chapter". Sorry.

x

"Graverobber, Graverobber," a raspy voice called, filling the alleyways and backstreets. These dry whispers were punctuated by soft moaning from the drug addicts and prostitutes hiding amongst the shadows. Some hid behind garbage dumps and others under fire escapes- hassling any other person who happened to come by those dreadful slums. Small animals scurried by as the sound of sharp stilettos clacked against the concrete, an uneven beat the result of uneven steps.

A petite figure soon appeared from behind a brick wall, stumbling slightly as two larger figures reached out to steady her. Upon closer inspection, the smaller shape was that of esteemed (the term used loosely) businesswoman and fashion icon Amber Sweet. The larger two, with their broad muscles and detached persona, were undoubtedly that of her bodyguards.

The faltering Amber Sweet took another tremulous step forward, once more crying out, "Graverobber, Graverobber". She gave the alley a once over before spotting a dumpster near a back door to a cheap Italian restaurant. Sometimes she wondered why she even bothered, Amber had all the free Zydrate she could ever need back at the GeneCo labs. When her father was alive, there was no way he would allow her to take the precious painkiller, so she was forced to sneak out for more than the recommended doses after and before surgery. So what if she was addicted to the knife? It wasn't like anyone really cared. The only one who cared about Amber Sweet was Amber Sweet. Everyone else was just a suck-up hoping to get in her good graces. Except, maybe, the Graverobber.

Amber smiled fondly through her haze, the Graverobber. He was always willing to fuel her habit, never once denying her the salvation she needed- even when she couldn't pay. Though, there were other ways of buying the drug than with cash. Many other Zydrate junkies tried this method, but all failed with Graverobber. He seemed to be above all other dealers, respected by them for refusing to bend, only giving the goods to those with the gold. Amber was his only exception. She didn't care to wonder why, all that mattered was he seemed to hold her in higher value than the other faceless customers.

She hurried over to the dumpster, before beckoning her bodyguards to open the lid. Sure enough, inside laid the Graverobber, lounging around reading a gossip magazine by light of the glowing Zydrate vials. His nonchalant expression flickered up to meet Amber's annoyed one, before it curled into that of a smug appearance.

"Well, if it isn't the Queen of the Scalpel Sluts," The Graverobber chuckled. "Wonder what she could want now."

Amber Sweet wordlessly threw some coins into the dumpster, and watched with impatience as the scruffy man leisurely pulled out a little glass vial. She stared with increasing urgency as he slowly stood inside the metal bin, and snatched it as soon as he brought it into range.

Chuckling, he observed as she loaded the Zydrate into a spare syringe with shaking hands, it seemed he wasn't the only dealer she had hit up tonight. Even he would only give her so much, he had to keep some supplies for others.

It had become easier for Amber to get her hands on Zydrate since her father had passed, so naturally she got her hands on more and more. Her addiction had branched out, and already one could see the effects of multiple painkillers coursing through her system. The many surgeries she had did a good job of concealing it, but all a person had to do was look into her eyes to tell she was troubled.

To tell the truth, the Graverobber cared a bit. Not that he was concerned about Amber's well being. But if she got a stronger addiction besides Zydrate, his preference to sell, or went and did something stupid because of the drugs; Graverobber would be plain out of luck then wouldn't he? Amber Sweet was his main source of income. Without her he'd still be able to get by, sure, but he'd have to cut down on a few of the lavish luxuries he had grown to love. So of course it was natural that he felt a slight twinge in the bottom of his stomach when she nearly fainted after injecting the Zydrate. It was perfectly, and completely normal.

Right?


	3. See It Slice

Okay, the truth is I've had this chapter ready for a while... but I've been using it as incentive against myself to make sure I completed the next two.

Sorry for the wait. Been busy- got a few new projects this semester.

Enjoy.

x

Inside the cheap Italian restaurant, there was a groan and some sobbing to be heard. A woman in a waitress uniform was crouched against a table, clutching the cloth adorning it with an almost completely white hand. The knuckles themselves were cut up a bit from where they had just hit the hardwood floor with tremendous impact. Contrasting against the pale skin and bleached uniform was the bright red color that just spelled disaster. It trickled out like spilt paint from the woman and as she stared harder at it, the sobbing increased.

She had just started at this restaurant for Mag's Sake! Maybe that's what the boss meant by be careful. Samantha had always heard that Luigi Largo was a very, temperamental sort- but being the naïve person she was, she thought she would be fine just serving him dinner.

Obviously that wasn't the case. Now, as she lies here, probably dieing, she wondering if this job was really necessary. The only reason she got it was to pay for the extra cosmetic surgery she had agreed to go along with her organ transfer. Really, all she needed was a new heart- she didn't have to aim higher! If she had just kept her face looking the way it was, and had not tried to emulate all those stars in the magazines, she wouldn't be here! She wouldn't need to have to pay off the extra fee, to avoid the Repo Man, and she wouldn't have needed to get a job in a dingy restaurant known for the unscrupulous clientele it held.

This made Samantha quiet down a bit. It wasn't Luigi's fault that she was on the floor, practically dead. It was her's. Well, the infamous Luigi Largo certainly had some play in this, but for the most part, she had dug her own grave. Literally.

The man in question stared at her from his seat at the wooden table, shifting slightly to catch a better view. He mumbled to himself, as his rage receded slowly. He cocked his head in a confused manor, trying to recall what had just happened. He was sitting at the table, and he saw a plain looking waitress come up and ask him what he wanted. Luigi remembered ordering the spaghetti, and going to his pocket to answer the phone. His brother had been on the other end, berating him for not attending that day's business meeting. A yelling match had started, and Luigi had gotten more and more angry. The waitress had returned. And he… he stabbed her.

She wasn't doing anything wrong, and that's what always bothered Luigi after he went into one of his rages. Most of the time, the people he hurt hadn't done anything to deserve the blade through their ribcage. His father had realized what a temper he had, even when Luigi was just a tiny child. His father had given a damn and tried to help him control it. But Luigi had stupidly taken that for granted. That was probably the biggest thing he regretted about his father's death. He couldn't even just _attempt_ to change! Rotti Largo had at least managed to impart his wisdom and skill for running a company in one heir. But unfortunately, it was the one child that couldn't even control himself long enough to sign a contract.

He tried to be good. Every single second was a struggle not to stab the nearest person for just breathing the wrong way. Every moment was another accident waiting to happen.

Well, maybe he didn't try as hard as he could. There was a slight rush he got when he pulled out that spare scalpel or knife he had managed to get his hands on in the morning. That feeling of overwhelming adrenaline that released with each swipe of the knife. It was addicting, just as much as those drugs his sister was hooked on.

Luigi wasn't the only one to blame for his deeds though. People knew it was a terrible idea to give him a sharp object. Most, were too afraid of what he might possibly do to them if they made an effort to take it away, and therefore did not bother- instead opting to steer clear of the deranged man. Unstable as he was normally, it was nothing compared to how Luigi could be. That was a sight better not witnessed. So it was really as much a fault to them as it was him.

A choking noise brought Luigi to his feet; the girl was inching closer and closer to death. He sighed slightly, and reached his hand into his pocket for the phone. Best to call in a clean up crew before word could spread of another murder-by-GeneCo-boss. The cook wouldn't tell anyone what happened, old Robert knew that a man such as Luigi Largo could shut down the restaurant in a second if he did- and quite frankly, it was getting harder and harder to find a job.

Luigi swiftly dialed the number as the blood continued to spread on the maple floors. The stain would be a killer to clean up. He didn't even attempt to help the waitress. It was far too late, and he had committed so many crimes similar to this he knew it would be pointless. As he brought the phone up to his ear, he smiled bitterly- for he knew that the cleaners GeneCo had around the city probably had people standing by for moments such as these. Moments which one little slice of the knife told the ending of a life, and another story that had to be hushed before it hit the press.

He had barely closed the phone, before Luigi heard the sound of the front door slamming and a frightened gasp.

Great, one more body for those clean-up crews.

He turned around slightly to catch a glimpse of the person who had entered, and the waitress in the crisp, clean, un-bloodied uniform surprised him so much he dropped the cell phone.

He turned around to catch a glimpse of the person who had entered, and stared shocked into the equally startled eyes of the woman standing at the doorway in a crisp, clean, un-bloodied server's uniform.

x

And as a treat, here's a preview of the rough draft (also the non-proofread draft) of the next chapter. Sorry it is short, but I figure the less I give away, the more you'll all have to read!

Next Chapter:

"'GeneCo...' a figure walking the deserted streets of the near morning mused to herself. It was GeneCo's fault..."


	4. Out From the Night

Alright, I know its been a long time. And there's really no excuse for it. I want to thank whomever's been nice enough to add me to their Alerts, and I promise I'll try and deliver more promptly. If you ever feel as if I'm not updating fast enough- PMs are welcome from anyone. Just tell me which story you want updated. As well, I'm more than happy to look at ideas for where the story could go. If I feel your idea is better than mine, or you have any corrections, again- very welcome. As for a Beta Reader, I already have one (though we seem to argue over the usage of spilt paint). However, I'm willing to take on a Beta for my other story, _Just a Little Freddy/Nightmare_.

Now, without further delay, may I present- Out From the Night.

x

The city gleamed, the skyscrapers fully bathed in light, contrasting against the pale night sky. This was not at all dissimilar from day- as smog and carbon emissions had long ago blocked out the sun. But still, the only streetlamps needed in this not-so-desert wasteland were those of the neon and LED billboards advertising GeneCo's newest surgical fad.

'GeneCo...' a figure walking the deserted streets of the near morning mused to herself. It was GeneCo's fault- what had probably been such a beautiful place was turned into a disappointing disaster. Such a wonderland destroyed by a miscreant Alice fallen down the wrong rabbit hole.

The flickering lights cast many emotions on the stoic face of the matronly woman walking. The second hand sneakers she wore made naught but the occasional squeak as she hurried along.

'Don't make eye contact with anyone or anything.'

'Don't focus too long in one spot… lest you attract the wrong sort of attention your way.'

These were some of the many lessons one learned in only a few months on the street. Other similar lessons were equally valuable, but nevertheless these were the ones that mattered right now. Life was hard in this city, and oftentimes she longed to escape. Many sleepless nights were spent voyeuristically gazing at an old book's pictures of nature, or at a stray bug outside the window. She longed to belong to a distant time, a time where organ disease and repossessions were unheard of, and people did not value looks as they did so heavily now.

Wishful thinking. Most in this world had never seen a river that wasn't polluted with toxic waste and spilt blood of the dead. None of them had ever breathed in air that didn't contain deadly poisons, or smell a flower that didn't come from a graveyard or a tomb. It just did not exist, and even some noted historians questioned if such a place ever existed. These ghastly substitutes for what was so wonderful and splendid did not faze her in the slightest. There was once a life worth living for and definitely something worth dreaming long enough for. Dreams themselves were hard to come by- and only the rich got the pleasure of sleeping long enough to experience them (for how can one experience anything but nightmares in such a place?).

She supposed it was a possibility. Perchance these notions of such unshattered splendor were merely the child's stories of those who had not yet lost their innocence to a gleaming scalpel or to a glowing vial of Zydrate. Those same children as well were becoming fewer and fewer as the generations went on. The woman supposed she should feel a bit of pity; instead the empathy she felt couldn't even be put on the same level as pity. It was the amount of empathy one could only achieve if they themselves had lost their innocence after having it long enough to miss it.

A sound from a nearby alleyway caused the woman to quicken her pace and pull the worn jacket she was wearing over her white waitress's uniform. Too many things could be the reason behind that noise, and another of the city's lessons was to never stick around long enough to find its source. Another slight noise from farther off in the distance, similar to that of a GeneCo cleaner, and she broke out into a slight run. That was positively not a good sound. It wasn't unusual for people to become scared by a GeneCo vehicle (those usually meant trouble), but any passerby (had there been any) would have agreed that the lady's fear was a bit unnatural.

She reached the doorway, the neon sign above it flickering so it read "Gi-o's It--ian Kitchen". Her worn and calloused hands fumbled with the keys she had been given to open up. But even in this fumble anyone could detect she had been in situations such as this before. And as she opened the door to her place of work at the dingy neighborhood Italian cookery, the sight inside caused Shilo Wallace to gasp in shock and she dropped the keys on the hardwood floor.


End file.
